


Thicker Than Water

by orphan_account



Series: Episode Tags [4]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationship, Gen, Jon/Daenerys is present but very much in the background, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 12:43:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17828807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sansa is going to kill him. She really is.





	Thicker Than Water

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I love Daenerys, but I feel like Sansa…would not be super happy with the whole situation for quite a while.

Sansa's father told her once that important decisions should not be made in haste, especially when strong emotions are involved. She still believes this, for all he died adhering to his own sensible advice, and that is why when she receives Jon's letter, she doesn't immediately write one back.

 

 _Dear Jon,_ she thinks, lying in bed and grinding her teeth.  _If you truly wished to give up the crown, there was a perfectly suitable candidate for successor in Winterfell._

 

 

_Dear Jon, did she even ask, or did you give up the North to another Targaryen conqueror out of misplaced chivalry?_

 

_Dear Jon, if Lord Glover doesn't kill you, I will._

She writes none of these things. She waits. She has become very, very good at waiting. When Arya comes to visit her in her chambers, she shows her the note. She reads it, frowning a little over the words, and then hands it back.

 

"Idiot," she says calmly.

 

Sansa releases a breath. She hadn't realized until now how worried she was that Arya would take Jon's part in this as in all else. " _What_ he was thinking. Our family suffered at the hands of hers and now he's just–handing her the North?"

 

"I'm sure he thought it was the best decision," Arya says. "He's Jon. He's not going to do something like this for no reason."

 

"Yes," Sansa says impatiently. "He's very honorable. That doesn't make this a  _good decision_."

 

"No," Arya agrees. She perches on the edge of Sansa's desk, swinging her legs like a merry child. There's a brief silence as Sansa crosses out another too-angry reply and shoves it aside, and then Arya says, "is it true about the dragons?"

 

"Apparently."

 

"Then it's not a total loss," Arya says lightly. "I've always wanted to meet a dragon."

 

Sansa groans and puts her face in her hands.

 

 

She elects not to send any letter at all, in the end. All of her drafts came out with a touch too much venom, and that isn't the right tone to take in such delicate political circumstances. She stands with Brienne and the rest of the court for their new guests to arrive, and politely pretends that Lord Glover isn't audibly muttering about foreign whores and unwise alliances a few feet away.

 

For all his foolishness, she is still stupidly grateful that Jon is alive. She had sent him south half-expecting to never see him again, and he is here, travel-weary and a little nervous himself, but alive. 

 

Then Daenerys Targaryen enters, and Jon turns to look at her with the eyes of a man in love.

 

 _Oh, Jon,_ Sansa thinks dismally.  _You didn't._

 

But he clearly  _has_ , and so Sansa swallows the angry words that threaten to rise to her lipsand smiles as composedly as she can manage. _She_ might have noticed, but there's a chance–slim, perhaps, but one she'll cling to–that the Northern lords have not. Jon to her is an open book, but she grew up with him. Perhaps she and Arya are the only ones who will notice that he's gone absolutely moon-eyed over a Targaryen queen.

 

"Winterfell is yours, Your Grace," she says.

 

Daenerys nods politely, a faint smile on her lips. She is truly lovely–a figure out of a storybook, with silver hair and silver coat and _dragons_. The queen is eyeing her as though Sansa's profound irritation with her brother and his new paramour and the world in general is showing through, though Sansa is practiced enough by now to know that it isn't. Her smile widens just a touch, equal parts amusement and sympathy, one lost girl to another.

 

 _Gods be good,_ Sansa thinks. _If my brother were not such a fool_ _, I could even like you._


End file.
